Date: Sun, 20 Apr 2008 15:49:11 -0400
From: niftyreadersclub@aol.com
Subject: They Jounrey - Part 2
`THE JOURNEY'
PART TWO
It was earlier in the day this time, but on a weekend, so there were a few
more people in the bar. Stepping in, I noticed, to my relief, that the
same bartender was there serving drinks. I even sat at the same stool as
before, and kept my eyes to myself. Conversation was louder around me then
before. When the bartender noticed me, he paused in recognition before
coming up to me. "Long Island?" He asked.
I shook my head. "Something less potent today. I'll have a Corona."
"Coming right up." As he moved half way down the hall, he kept his eye on
me, and I noticed him suddenly stare at my wedding ring. When he returned
to me, opening the bottle, he set it before me and asked, "Can I ask you a
question this time?" I nodded. "Well,' he began, "I remember what you
asked me last time. Do you think you have a gay kid?" I nodded. "A boy
you think is eyeing you?"
At that I stood, practically knocking the stool over, and was going to dart
out of there but he stayed me. "Hey hey! Hang on." He put his hands up
in surrender and I froze, but didn't look at him. "I don't want to scare
you away," he said as he backed up to leave me alone.
Something made me find my bearings and I sat back down slowly. Some
seconds later, I looked his way. He was still looking my way and our eyes
met for the briefest of seconds before I concentrated on the bottle of beer
before me. I sensed him coming back down toward me, doing this and that
along the way, but his eyes were glued to me.
There wasn't anyone sitting around the front of the oval bar where I was,
near to the exit. "I admire you." I heard him say.
Finally, I looked at him fully. "Why's that?" I truly had no idea why I
could be admired in my situation, or at least the situation I thought I was
in.
"It's a rarity, what you're doing." I put a question mark in my
expression. He looked around before responding. Tentatively, he stepped
up in front of me, propping a foot on a cooler on his side of the bar. "I
never see a parent like this. You must be here for a reason." I shrugged
my shoulders. He grinned. "This doesn't happen on a regular basis, to see
a parent come around, little lone a father."
"And a nervous one at that," I replied, taking a swallow of beer. Looking
in his eyes, I saw...comfortableness. He had no judgment in his eyes,
considering what I'd asked him some days ago.
"How old is he?" He asked.
"Fourteen."
His eyes widened. "Wow, quite a young age for anyone, lesbian or gay, to
tell a parent that he's gay."
"He didn't tell me. My wife and I, we've suspected it for a few years." I
sighed. "No girlfriends, no sports, more quiet, more secretive," and as I
said all of those things this bartender just nodded his head like he'd
lived it all out himself.
"So what's happening?" I admired this man's directness. I felt like he
knew just what questions to ask.
"Some time back, I noticed..." `Was I really going to say these things out
loud to this stranger?' I asked myself. But I did. "I noticed, sensed,
that I was being watched, particularly around times of...of changing
clothes, showering. Things like that. I sensed it coming from him, and
this was after we already had our suspicions about his being gay." After a
moment, I looked at him, and he was just standing there like a statue,
waiting for me to continue. "Anyway, not long ago I was in a bathroom in
our house, looking out the window, and saw that from our kid's tree house
to the east, they could partially see inside this bathroom. I saw him
there, looking at me, and then he backed up into the shadows. I went out
and...and had a not so successful talk with him."
"What'd you say?"
"I asked him if he liked boys." The bartender nodded. "I got no answer,
not a yes or a no. I only saw fear, so I dropped it. That feeling of
being watched went away that day, until now, today. The same thing
happened. I went back to the tree house and asked him, more or less, if it
was me he was looking to see." I shook my head, and heard a burst of
laughter. "What's funny?"
"Well, you scared the shit out of him. I mean you...you practically
grabbed him in the safety of darkness and pulled him into the light
unexpectedly. At that age, I'd have shit my pants too." He chuckled
again, but when he saw the frustrated, serious look on my face, he sobered
his expression. "I don't know what to tell you."
Down trodden, I set my beer down and stood. "Thanks anyway."
"Hey wait." I stopped in mid stride, watched him leave the oval area and
go to someone in the middle of the bar. A moment later, the guy was
walking my way on my side of the bar, and when he reached me, he said,
"Follow me."
"And where are we going?" I asked cautiously, really realizing where I was
at and who I was around.
"I want to take you on a little tour." With some reluctance, I followed.
Stepping out into a sunlit, fall day, we walked side by side through the
old section of downtown. He guided me to the front of another bar that had
a few tables and chairs on the sidewalk. Only one table was available, and
he seemed happy at that. He indicated for me to sit down. We ordered
coffee. "Why are we here?" "Just listen. Sit and listen." At that, the
guy didn't say another word. Yet I was expecting him to talk.
Then slowly, gradually, the voices found my ears; voices from guys of
various gay stereo types at the other tables. What I heard hurt my ears.
I heard `gay' this and `gay' that, and complaining, bitching about life,
bitching about unfairness, and most of them laughed at themselves. Sure,
there was fun around me, good talks, but other things stood out.
After about twenty minutes of this, the bartender stood and said, "This
couldn't have been more perfect." He slapped some money down on the table
and nodded for me to leave with him.
I was thoroughly confused.
Next, I found myself again at the entrance of another bar, this one more
shoddy looking. We went in to a very dim lit, small room. The bar top
itself was small. The bartender ordered us more coffee.
Again, what patrons were in this bar seemed older, and warn out, looking
almost defeated. "It looks more depressing this time of day then at
night," Mister bartender commented. We didn't stay there long before we
were up and heading somewhere else.
This time toward the wide river that flowed through the middle of downtown.
We walked a ways, heading away from foot traffic to the more remote parts
of the river, into a grotto of sorts. Stepping through the foliage, there
were well worn foot paths in the bushes, and trash everywhere. I noticed a
lot of used condoms and condom wrappers. With sudden quickness, I noticed
it around me. There were people among the bushes darting around, huddled
together, and I knew what was happening. I shot a hot fired glance at the
man with me and as fast as I could I was out of there and heading back
toward the populace of the downtown area. But I stopped myself, safely
around the public but away from the earshot of others, and turned to the
guy. "Why? What's your point?"
The bartender let out a quick sigh. "You have a choice."
"But I don't see any choices." I said with some anger.
"You know all those people you heard talking, all the things you saw?" I
nodded. "They were your son, once upon a time." I staggered, pinching the
bridge of my nose as if I had a headache, but this was much worse than a
headache. "Each and every one of them started out just like your son. Do
you know why all of these people are where they are today and why they are
who they are today?"
I was getting dizzy. "No."
"Because they didn't have someone like you coming out here to find answers.
Most of these people lost contact with most or all members of their family
because of prejudice, hate, dislike, laws, whatever you want to call it.
They had no one to talk to, to let them speak. They had no guidance. You
asked me why I admire you. I hope you get just a gist of understanding.
"I wanted you to see what becomes of people when they lose the most
important things in their lives for no understandable reason. There is a
world of lost souls out here who never recover." The bartender shook his
head sadly. "They become bitter and spiteful, hateful, and lonely, and
spend the rest of their lives complaining that the world is being unfair to
them because they said out loud who they were. It happens to this very
day, dude.
"Now put your son here, where you've just been, getting drunk every day,
always afraid of unfair treatment, closed to any hope, mostly because of
the rejection they had at the very beginning. There are a lot of these
people. I see them every day." He stopped speaking after that.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself near a thick tree, and leaned against
it. "So why aren't you like this?" I asked. "You seem like a pretty well
rounded guy."
He thought about that before responding. "Because I was one of the
fortunate ones. I had instant support, and I believe I got that support
because I didn't need to scream to people on the other side of the world
who I was; that as long as I worried about just taking care of myself, I'd
be fine. I didn't need to push myself in anyone's face for attention
because I didn't need attention. Oh, I could have ended up like a lot of
these people, but I didn't." He said all this calmly, then stepped closer
to me, and in a softer voice, said, "You have an opportunity here to keep
your son from ever feeling this."
I was a bundle of nerves. "And what about this fascination I think I feel
he has toward me?"
Shrugging his shoulders, the bartender said bluntly, "You remember me
telling you about my uncle?" I nodded. "I will admit this. To this day,
if I had this much of a possibility-"and he drew two fingers so close
together they almost touched "-this slight of a chance, to have fifteen,
twenty minutes of time to play around with him, be horny together, get off
together, I'd take it, and feel no shame, because I don't live by society's
rules, but by what feels most right to me." A breath later, he added, "Of
course it'll never happen, my uncle is society based, but still, it would
be a fantasy come true. And as for you, who knows what will happen. This
could all just be a phase your son is going through. But you're here, and
learning and most boys don't get parents who do this, especially fathers."
A quiet moment passed between us before I asked, "So what do you think I
should do?"
He responded fast. "What you've already done has made him more afraid then
he once was. It's confusing enough thinking of who you're becoming at that
age, but you jerked him out of his safety zone before he was ready. You
should mend this as fast as you can," Was his advice.
"How?"
He took another step closer to me, looked around to see if anyone could
hear, and said, "What's wrong with letting him see the man who brought him
into this world in all his glory?" We stared at each other. "Your son's
probably never seen a naked adult male. And looking at you, if I was a
boy, and your son, I know for a fact I'd have a huge crush on you, a secret
crush." He shrugged his shoulders. "I know I would." How honest he was
being. It was perplexing. "What you need to do here is eliminate his
fears so that he can at least feel like he can say something. If you
don't, he's probably going to victimize himself, like so many young boys
do."
A trembling moment later, I asked, "What would you suggest I do?"
Surprised, he answered, "If I were in your shoes, I'd tell you. But I'm
not."
"And what of my fears?" I asked.
Nodding, he said, "As you help him face his fears...face yours."
I allowed myself to feel lost, abandoning even myself after that meeting.
I wasn't prepared for the acceptance of my situation little lone the
support. Mister bartender, as I suddenly found myself thinking of him,
gave me much to think about. When I returned home, I learned that Zavid
had spent the rest of his day in his room. The rest of the family was
doing their normal activities. In the kitchen, I sat alone, eating a cold
dinner, hearing the words `face yours' echo in my mind constantly.
Given the situation, it didn't take me long to know what my two most
powerful fears were, I simply never thought of them as fears. The first
was nudity. At an early age, when I realized how striking I was in
appearance to others, all the attention I got nurtured me into being fully
dressed around people. I couldn't handle the looks, the longing in so many
girls' eyes. Guys even looked at me, which didn't help, Although I don't
think most of them looked at me sexually, but some other way. It wasn't my
fault that I was attractive, but I did use it arrogantly to get my way many
times; it was the intimate attention from strangers that lead me to show
less flesh. I only felt comfortable naked with my wife because I wanted
that particular attention from her.
The second fear was more difficult. All my life, I lived without any male
to male affection in any way. I didn't grow up in a family of affection,
my dad wasn't affectionate. It was a part of my being macho. A hand
shake, a pat on the back was always good enough for me. I rarely hugged my
sons. I didn't feel there was a reason for that sort of sharing.
Yet now, I felt the macho part of me, my armor, fall away, peeling off me
like sunburned skin, and I was vulnerable. And I thought of Zavid,
upstairs in his room, probably feeling that his father hated and loathed
him. I didn't want that. I never meant for that to happen. I was certain
that this was exactly what was going on in my son's mind. Regardless of
whether he was thinking of me more intimately then typical or not, I'd
rather have that then have him feel fear and hate and distance and utter
loneliness.
I was at his bedroom door before my heart could skip a beat. I heard the
rest of the family downstairs. With quietness, I knocked on the door. He
didn't answer. I turned the knob and slowly put forward the upper part of
my body through the entrance and looked to where he was sitting on his bed.
"Zavid," my voice was surprisingly calm and nonthreatening, "would you meet
me in the tree house?" I asked. I forced my eyes to look as pleading and
loving as I could. He stared. "Please?" He didn't answer. All I could
do was close the door. My legs carried me to the tree house of their own
accord.
I didn't turn on the holiday tree lights that were stapled to the ladder
for vision, but I did turn on the light I had built in inside the tree
house. Two of the three window shutters were already closed, and I closed
the last. I positioned myself against the wall from the entrance and sat.
And waited. Looking around, I noticed various things around me that we'd
bought for the kids. Things abandoned and probably forgotten.
Though it wasn't, it seemed like an eternity before I finally heard soft
footsteps of someone climbing the ladder. Zavid came into view, staring at
me for a moment before entering. He closed the wooden door behind him, and
remained standing there. I felt hope. Keeping my voice low, I smiled and
said, "Thanks for coming." In the light, I could see his face full of
shame and fear. Standing up, I said, "I want to do something for you."
Nervously, and already vulnerable, I began to shed what remaining armor I
had. I took one shoe off, then the other. Panic formed in my son's eyes
when he realized what I was doing and he spun around. Thinking that he was
going to leave, I took one long step forward and put my hands on the door
so it couldn't be opened, but he didn't try to open it. I stepped back,
and took my socks off, keeping an eye on him at all times. He heard the
tinkle of my belt buckle and almost looked, but thought not to, even though
he could hear the belt slide free from the loops of my jeans. I pulled my
polo shirt and tee shirt free from my pants and removed them one at a time,
exposing my muscular, hairy torso. Zavid still didn't try to really look.
I undid the button of my jeans and slid the zipper down. The sound of me
taking off my pants seemed loud in the enclosed space. I looked down at
myself and thought about the only thing left I was wearing; dark blue
boxers. I hesitated only briefly, then shucked out of them, and took a
deep breath.
"Zavid?" His name hung in the air. "It's okay to turn around." Arms to
my sides, I waited. Second by second, his body reluctantly moved in a
pivotal position. When he was fully facing my direction, his eyes were
drawn to the floor between us. "You can look at me. I want you to." I
was surprised at how soothing my deep voice was. When I felt his eyes
first look at my feet, and nervously climb up my legs, his eyes flickering
at the sight of my flaccid, uncircumcised penis and hairy balls that had
always been just a shade darker than the rest of me even when I was fully
tan, I shook, but remained rooted there for him. He'd never seen this much
of me in his life.
After finally meeting my eyes, I couldn't help but see his mother in him.
Corbin looked more like me, but Zavid had his mother's features. It was so
noticeable, I had to smile. I had to take all of his fears away, and let
him speak. Slowly, I raised my arms, and invited him to me. And slowly,
he took each step forward until I could wrap my arms around him, pulling
him to me, his face buried in the forest of my chest, and let him put his
arms around me. Feeling his body tremble and hearing that he was about to
shed tears, I held him tight.
I whispered, "Can we talk now?"
Part Three To Follow...